Chapter Sixty-Two: Honors Pour In

Yang Jun from the Municipal Publicity Department? Even the 18-year-old Zhao Zejun from his past life had heard this name before. The head of the Propaganda Department in Yijiang City, he had arrived shortly after the new mayor and was known to be one of the mayor’s staunchest allies.

In the following years of Yijiang’s rapid development, Yang Jun frequently appeared in the news.

So it turned out that Mr. Goebbels had arrived.

“Hello, Minister Yang!”

Zhao Zejun’s demeanor was exactly that of a young high school student overwhelmed by unexpected honor—excited, a little bewildered, clutching Yang Jun’s right hand with both of his and shaking it vigorously.

Yang Jun smiled and nodded, skillfully turning his body just enough so that the handshake was perfectly framed for the reporters.

Click, click, click—flashbulbs exploded throughout the hospital room. Thankfully, there were no dogs present, or they might have been blinded by the glare!

“Student Zhao, the comrades from Heping Road Subdistrict Office and the police station have already given a detailed report of your deeds to the city… Though, honestly, there was no need for a report—the cameras that day recorded everything crystal clear.”

Yang Jun’s gaze swept the room, but though he addressed Zhao Zejun, his words were for everyone present. “Student Zhao’s actions are the finest embodiment of Yijiang City’s commitment to spiritual civilization. The municipal party committee attaches great importance to this, and after joint discussions among the Publicity Department, the Spiritual Civilization Office, and the Youth League Committee, we have decided to bestow upon Zhao Zejun the title of ‘Outstanding Youth League Member’! At the same time, he will receive a personal reward of twenty thousand yuan in cash!”

A round of applause broke out. Yang Jun accepted a silk banner from a staff member and handed it ceremoniously to Zhao Zejun.

On the red banner, in yellow thread, were embroidered the four characters: “Model Youth.”

As Zhao Zejun took the banner and looked at the words, he was clearly taken aback for a moment. Yang Jun, half in jest, explained, “Zhao here first risked his life in rescue and disaster relief, helped the weak and elderly, then uncovered a case of human trafficking—several heroic deeds, in fact. But the banner isn’t big enough to spell them all out, so I made the executive decision: just ‘Model Youth’ will do!”

“That’s perfect, just perfect,” Zhao Zejun replied cheerfully.

“This is the special bonus of twenty thousand yuan from the Spiritual Civilization Office!” Yang Jun handed over a bundle of crisp hundred-yuan notes, tied with a red ribbon, then turned to Zhao Zejun’s father and mother, Zhao Tao and Zhou Ya, and laughed. “This money comes directly from the city for Zhao Zejun—well, I should say Comrade Zhao Zejun. You parents mustn’t make him hand it over!”

Zhao Tao and Zhou Ya exchanged proud smiles. As for the twenty thousand yuan, it would once have been a fortune to the Zhao family, but now, it was just a “little sum.”

The awards and cash were only the beginning. As the crowd dispersed, a middle-aged couple entered, leading a little girl with fair skin, dressed in a floral skirt, her hair in twin braids.

“And this is—?”

“Don’t you recognize her? This is the little girl you saved. These are her parents, who insisted on coming to thank you personally!” Yang Jun introduced them with a smile.

Indeed, she was unrecognizable. The day he had found her locked in that room, her face was caked with dirt—she looked like a poor little mud monkey. Now, cleaned up and dressed, she was an entirely different child.

The girl's mother, upon seeing Zhao Zejun, moved as if to kneel before him, but Zhao Zejun quickly caught her by the arm, joking, “Please, ma’am, it was just a lucky coincidence—I happened to come across your little rabbit caught in the snare. It was nothing.”

“It’s all my fault,” the woman said, clearly exhausted and tearful. “I took her to the park that day, turned away for a second, and she was gone.” Drawing the little girl forward, she said, “Yun Yun, quickly, thank your uncle!”

“Thank you, uncle.” The little girl hid behind her mother, so shy that she couldn’t even raise her head.

“Um… better call me big brother,” Zhao Zejun corrected gently.

“Haha, you’ve aged our young Zhao a bit there!” Yang Jun led the laughter.

The girl’s father, bespectacled and scholarly in appearance, gripped Zhao Zejun’s hand tightly and said, “Young man, if not for you, our family would have been destroyed.” He then took a business card from his pocket and handed it over with both hands. “This is my card. If you ever need my help, please don’t hesitate to call.”

“You’re too kind. Anyone would have done the same in that situation,” Zhao Zejun replied, accepting the card.

“This is just a token of appreciation from me and my wife…” He handed over a large red envelope.

Zhao Zejun was crying inside! Couldn’t they have given this to him in private? With all these media people around—should he accept it? Or should he accept it?

“No, no, there’s no need. Better save it to buy your child some nutritious food, or donate it to the police station—there are still two other kids there who need daily expenses,” Zhao Zejun said righteously.

As soon as the words left his mouth, Yang Jun was the first to pull out five hundred yuan and hand it to the police station representative, saying solemnly, “This is a small token from me personally—buy the children some good formula…”

Zhao Zejun almost blurted out, “Just don’t buy that Three Deer brand!”

The commendation ceremony turned into a mini donation drive, with Mr. Goebbels leading the way. Everyone followed suit, contributing anywhere from fifty to four hundred yuan. Not only did Zhao Zejun not accept the grateful parents’ gift, he even had Jiang Xuan help him donate two hundred yuan.

“Comrade Zhao, with just a casual word, you’ve done another good deed,” Yang Jun said with a smile. Then, his expression grew solemn as he turned to face the cameras. “The spring breeze brings warmth to the world, and Yijiang City’s efforts in building a spiritual civilization have borne rich fruit. Taking this opportunity today, I have more good news to share: Our province’s renowned Huayang Group has decided to donate funds to help Gaogang Village with post-disaster reconstruction. Chairman Wang Yan of Huayang Group is himself a retired soldier. After seeing Zhao Zejun and Jiang Xuan assisting veterans and elderly people on television, he was deeply moved…”

Once again, there were awards, thank-yous, and speeches. It was nearly noon before Zhao Zejun was finally discharged from the hospital.

“I’m exhausted—my face is about to freeze from all this smiling.” Zhao Zejun rubbed his cheeks with a grimace.

“Go home and rest. Your mother’s made chicken soup for you,” Zhao Tao said, patting his son’s shoulder and hailing a taxi.

But Zhao Zejun was not one for idleness. No sooner had he rested at home than he was ready to rush back out.

“Child, haven’t you had enough? Where are you going now?” Zhou Ya called after him.

“He’s grown up, let him go,” Zhao Tao waved her off.

“I’m not trying to control him, I just worry about his health—he just got out of the hospital,” Zhou Ya fretted.

“When I was his age, I could carry thirty catties of dirt across dozens of miles in the countryside. Don’t worry—young people are resilient,” Zhao Tao said, putting down his book and speaking seriously. “Didn’t we already agree? Now that our son’s grown, we can’t help much—we shouldn’t hold him back, either. Think about it—could either of us have done what he’s done? No, we couldn’t.”

“Why didn’t we ever realize how capable our son was?” Zhou Ya’s voice was tinged with confusion, but mostly pride.

“I’ve been saying—we need to change our mindset and keep up with the times. You can’t always treat him like a child. Look at this time—he kept it from us because he didn’t want us to worry.”

Zhao Tao picked his book back up, settled into his chair, and said leisurely, “Sometimes, you just have to let go. Don’t let love and care become a burden.”

“You’re good with words!” Zhou Ya rolled her eyes at him.

Zhao Zejun did, in fact, have urgent business. He hailed a taxi and headed straight for the Yijiang branch of Huayang Group.

Having learned that Huayang Group was funding the reconstruction of Gaogang Village, Zhao Zejun’s first thought was to contact them as soon as possible—perhaps he could secure a share of this modest project, or even take it on entirely.

Huayang Group likely didn’t yet know that Gaogang Village was about to be demolished. Once the demolition announcement was made, it would be too late.

This was the best opportunity to take the construction team from a ragtag outfit to a professional operation. Once the demolition began, a formalized team would be invaluable.